


Strange Doesn't Scare Me

by Selkie_de_Suzie



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Batman AU, Batman Returns AU, First Dates, I love Marianne as a Catwoman inspired Heroine/Thief, Romance, strange magic au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 17:55:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11926149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkie_de_Suzie/pseuds/Selkie_de_Suzie
Summary: Night falls over Fairfolk City, but more than one fire burns between a Rebellious Heiress and a Reclusive Beast of a Bachelor, both with secrets and both of their guards falling faced with the glow of the flames...Inspired by the unforgettable scene from Batman Returns.





	Strange Doesn't Scare Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jmandrake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmandrake/gifts).



> The result of me wanting to get back to my Batman AU and THIS scene (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i4kQVqkLLDs&t=5s).

Marianne arched a brow at him as Stuff and Thang finally left the room. “I’m a sure they’re wonderful company, but doesn’t the Reclusive Playboy Bachelor bit get kinda stale?” 

The normally grim line of Bog’s mouth twitched up in a smirk as he took in how the fire blazing in front of them played across the fine line of her cheekbones, catching in her eyes so that they glowed like simmering whiskey, molten amber. “About as stale as the Rebellious Heiress bit does, I imagine.” 

Her words caught up to him, and he quirked his head in disbelief. “Wait, you think  _I’m_  a playboy?” 

No one had ever accused Bogart Blackwood of  _that_ —

Marianne chuckled, a low, warm sound that was about as intoxicating as the scotch that had slid down his throat earlier, leaving the same smoldering trail trickling down his spine. “ _Sorry_. Old insults die hard when you’ve been raised in high society.” She sighed as she leaned back against the mossy green cushions, crossing those legs of hers in a way that was almost restless and did bloody  _nothing_ to help Bog’s concentration. “But I’ll have you know that the Rebellious Heiress angle is  _much_  better than what I was before.” 

Bog firmly pulled his eyes away from where they had been flitting back to her legs –  _long and slender and strong, made more for delivering roundhouse kicks to blonde bastard ex-fiancés than primping about at some party_ – so he could raise them to her, his turn to arch a heavy brow. “And that was…?” 

To his relief Marianne hadn’t noticed any untoward glances, so focused was she on the fire before her, those strange, lovely eyes gleaming gold as they gazed into the flames that danced so freely. “…Afraid,” she said, so soft Bog almost couldn’t hear her over the crackle and pops from the fireplace. “ _Naive._  Willing to believe  _anything_  as long as a happy ending was promised.” 

She sighed once more then gave a stretch, making her dark violet dress cling even more closely to her curves, that short skirt ride up even  _higher_  on her thighs. Bog quickly fastened his eyes on the flames as well.  _Lecher._   

Marianne, noticing nothing, continued on. “That’s over and done with, rest assured. Now…I keep my guard up.” 

“…Me too,” Bog said, the confession slipping out from him, too soft to hear. 

Or so he hoped. 

There was another smoky, scotch-sweet chuckle, and Bog looked over to see Marianne give him a smile that was as lovely at it was teasing. “So I gathered,” she said, flicking out a hand to the dark might and magnificence of the stone and wood walls around them, the veritable fortress that was his home. 

Bog’s cheeks burned, but he laughed as well, though a bit bashfully.  _Right, the reclusive bachelor bit, not the fact that you_ —

He cleared his throat and nodded at her. “I don’t have high society pining after me like you do, however.” 

Marianne snorted, the sound far too sour for any proper blue-blood socialite to make. “They miss  _Marianne Bellefae_ , the proper and polite  _‘princess’_ of Fairfolk City,” she said, a sneer curling at those dark lips. “Not  _me._  I’m too…” she shifted a bit, almost angry, almost…uncomfortable? “… _much_  for them.” She sighed again, and this time it was  _tired_ , tired and something close to morose. “And yet,  _not enough_. Hell of a contradiction.” 

Bog knew he shouldn’t edge closer,  _knew_  that moving across the pillows to her was  _trouble, trouble, trouble._ “But you’re… _different_.”   

Marianne laughed, dry and brittle as autumn leaves. “I’ve been told.” 

“That’s what I like—” Bog stopped, horrified.  _You great fucking git._  “Ah mean, um—ye—”

_Oh bullocks. Damn your accent, you’re not in the bloody mask now, are you?_

It was amazing how  _easy_  it was to dispatch a few low life criminals in a dark alley when compared to speaking to a ferociously fascinating and unspeakably gorgeous woman, but Bog made a valiant attempt nonetheless.  _“You_  would think that this city would… _respect_  genuineness more than the fashionably false.”

He couldn’t help but feel it was an unbearably trite platitude, but something about it must have charmed Marianne, because the way her eyes glowed as her eyes looked at him had nothing to do with the firelight. “That’s Fairfolk City for you,” she murmured. “They love the glamour and glitz.” She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes at something Bog wasn’t even sure was present to him. “No matter how false it is.” 

She blinked and then laughed, ducking her head down. “Hell, it’s pretty much been proven that you  _have_  to wear a mask here to get any kind of respect—” 

Bog gave a wry smile. “I suppose…” 

_As long as you’re a git who loves to wear gleaming green and gold and call all sort of glory and attention to yourself. Then of course the fools at the press bloody want to tongue your boots—_

Never mind that the Green Knight had never  _once_  tried to go into the truly dangerous neighborhoods, had never  _once_  tried to defend the Dark Streets—

Not that the Bog King would have let him. The Dark Streets were  _his_  people,  _his_  to protect. 

_I promised Father I would—_

Marianne was looking at him, golden eyes not wary but watchful, and Bog quickly busied himself with pouring her another drink, which she graciously accepted, sipping it slow and smooth, her slender throat tipping back in an elegant arch that had Bog biting the inside of his cheek. 

When she finished she stared over the rim of the glass at the fire, tapping dark, burgundy nails upon the stem of it with a soft  _clink_. “I think that’s why it’s better to be alone, honestly,” she murmured. “For me, at least. I’m stronger that way. And I won’t wear any mask unless I want to.” 

_You’d fashion a hell of one, Tough Girl._  Bog smiled, and then inexplicably flashed back to a fortnight ago, to one moonlit rooftop, his staff clanging against a sword, a bloody  _sword_  of all things—

The fighter had laughed as fiercely as they fought, and their eyes had gleamed like–like  _something_ , something  _wild_ , feral and framed by a dark, glittery mask, one that was fashioned into  _butterfly wings_ , like a bloody  _fairy_ —

They– _she_ , Bog was relatively certain that the fighter was a female, though his database hadn’t given him any possible leads–had moved like a fairy as well, flitting here and there, striking out strong and then twirling away as if  _dancing_  with him—

_Stop bloody **mooning**  after her, you git, you don’t even know her alias. _ _Why waste your time one her when a flesh and blood woman is in front of you, one who **wants**  to share a drink with you?_

Though  _that_  just might have been to escape that wretched ball—

Bog fought to come back and gave Marianne – once more watching him with those golden, almost wild eyes of hers – a slant of a smile that could have been a smirk if not for the sincerity in it. “And you’ll keep your guard up, aye?” 

Marianne returned his smile with one of her own, blossoming across her lips like the most gorgeous, darkest rose.  _“Exactly._  And most important, I never trust—”

“—Anyone.”

The echo of their combined voices fell down from the great stone ceiling, and Bog would have flushed with a scalding embarrassment had it not been for the unexpected sight of Marianne’s own cheeks stained prettily with a blush. 

She glanced up at him only to drop her eyes with a sweet, breathless laugh, and between that and how her eyes had  _flashed_  at him—

Bog scrubbed a hand over his hair and gave an exhale that was quite close to a laugh as well.  _God, what a night._   

“So…” Bog looked up to see Marianne biting her lip, looking at him with a curious sort of trepidation. “Um, girlfriend?” 

Bog blinked. 

And then tried very hard not to swallow his tongue as a hot flame of excitement exploded in his chest.  _Oh God._

When he spoke, his voice was soft and shy and undeniably eager.  _“Sure…”_

Marianne squinted at him, frowning in confusion, and Bog swiftly realized that he was an even  _bigger_  fucking fool then he had believed himself to be, and that was saying something.  _“Oh!_  Ye mean, uh, you meant…um,  _no_ , no no no. Ah, um, Ah  _had_  one, but…didn’t work out.” 

Marianne’s frown still lingered on her mouth, but now it was thoughtful. “What went wrong?” 

She swiftly held up a hand and smiled, something almost victorious in the slant of it. “Hang on, I think I know: you hid things from her.” 

Bog could have wept from ironic laughter, but he merely gave a dry chuckle. “No, told her everything.” 

Marianne arched both brows this time. “ _Ah_. That’s exceedingly rare in a man.” 

Bog smirked at her. “Especially playboy bachelors?” 

Marianne’s smile was equal parts wry and sour. “You have no idea. So…the truth… _frightened_ her?” 

_Oh, damn._

Bog licked his lips, trying to see if her could wrangle it properly. This is why being a  _reclusive_  bachelor and a vigilante worked out so much better than having company over. “Well…it was more…the  _reconciliation_ between the truths, y’know? Because there  _were_  multiple ones, and…well, the fact that there were multiple ones had Vickie—”

Marianne threw back her head and laughed. “ _Vickie?_  Ice skater or stewardess?” 

Bog laughed as well, softer and dryer. “Bio engineer, actually.” 

Marianne immediately stopped laughing and looked more than a bit abashed.  _“Sorry._  Blue blood socialite, I don’t even have a leg to stand on—”

Bog waved his hand impatiently. “S’fine, she hated it too.” 

Marianne ducked her head once more, but when she peeked up at him she seemed to be back to unthwarted curiosity. “So…was Vickie _right_ to be worried? About reconciling all those truths about you?”

Her eyes gleamed, fractals of the firelight making her eyes glow gold and wide and  _wild_ —

_Cat’s eyes,_  she had cat’s eyes, and she was toying with him and at this point Bog didn’t  _care_  if she used claws or not.

_Oh, damn. Trouble indeed._

He licked his lips once more and decided to go all in. “…See, no matter what Ah tell ye now, Ah have a feelin’ that ye’ll eventually come ta th’ realization tha’ th’ papers  _were_  right about me – a beast of a bachelor, past his prime and collectin’ more mold and moss than his mansion. All in all, just a very strange bloke in general, an’… ye…ye might not let me kiss ye.”  

There was a silence, one of firelight and bated breath and his heart _thudding, thudding, thudding—_

And then something  _must_  have been in his scotch, because Marianne was grinning in a way that could only be described as  _hungrily triumphant_ , and she was moving, those heels of hers falling to the floor with a  _clatter_  as she crawled across the couch to him. 

“The papers might be right about you, but they’re wrong about me,” she murmured, that scotch-sweet smolder back. “I  _don’t_  go home with strange men just to be a rebel and piss off my dad. I don’t go home with  _any_  men, not until you. It’s the so called normal guys and princes of high society who break your heart and let you down.” 

Marianne paused and shrugged, a curl falling across one of those gorgeous cat eyes. “Strange doesn’t scare me. At least you know who you are.” 

Bog’s eyes flickered across her face, the thoughtful purse of those dark lips and the honey-hot gleam of those eyes and then to the sweet, creamy flesh of her chest bared by that plunging neckline—

And Marianne pounced. 

She kissed him like she was devouring him, her hands all over him, one clawing down his back as the other fluttered over his sharp cheek, fingers light and soft as the brush of a butterfly wing, soft and strong, tender and tough,  _hell of a contradiction—_

Bog bit back into the kiss, urging her on, grasping her close, his embrace both a capture and a plea.  _I **don’t**  know, I don’t know who I am, Bogart Blackwood or The Bog King, but with you I’m  **Bog**  and all I know is that I  **like**  that, I  **like**  who I am when I’m with  **you** , please please please let me be with you Tough Girl—_

The fire was still crackling, the television still playing, but all Bog wanted was to let his body arch into the lithe line of her form, lose himself in her, far away from fear mongering journalists—

When Marianne’s tongue curled at his, Bog was damn certain she had the power to give him just that, burn away every bit of ink and blood that stained his reputation and his soul—

“We interrupt your scheduled show to bring you this breaking story – popular socialite Dawn Bellefae has been reported  _missing_ , and all evidence points to a kidnapping courtesy of the infamous Bog King—”

Bog and Marianne flew apart, their voices once more echoing off the ceiling in their combined shock.  _“WHAT?”_   

**Author's Note:**

> I have SUCH a weakness for this AU, honestly, which all started with a Tumblr Prompt: 
> 
>  
> 
> " You know, as much as I like the idea of Bog being the super villain/anti-hero to Marianne’s super hero, I LOVE and can easily picture the a city being under the protection of The Bog King, a vigilante superhero much like Batman… 
> 
> He’s rumored to be much too grim and dark to be a classic superhero, and no one thinks to make the connection between him and Bogart Blackwood, the reclusive millionaire who lives deep within the forest right at the city’s edge…
> 
> Marianne Bellefae is a well known socialite who has largely retreated from the public since she called off her wedding to Playboy Millionaire Roland Renard, taking up gymnastics and fighting off her father’s attempts to groom her to inherit his company. Meanwhile, Le Papillion steals from the upper crust fat cats, determined to pay like for like and to prove that she can take care of herself… 
> 
> After one very botched jewelry heist, a delightful series of rooftop duels and fight-flirting begins…
> 
> Then the famously good looking Green Knight declares he shall hunt down the Bog King to make him pay for a series of crimes he’s been rumored to have taken part in (Roland is just trying to cover his tracks. Heck, if word got out that he was involved in some shady dealings…well, there goes any credibility he has as this city’s superhero). 
> 
> And so The Bog King and Le Papillion find they must join forces. And all the while, Marianne and Bog are trying to juggle their lives and the desperate attraction they have both in and out of their masks… 
> 
> In short, Roland is a Playboy Millionaire By Day and a Super Villain Masquerading As A Superhero By Night, Marianne totally knows how to sword fight and handle a whip, and Bog (as always) has a fondness for bats. "
> 
> Man, I *love* it. So, in summary: 
> 
> Roland is obviously the Green Knight, and yes, he was the one to kidnap Dawn. He’s been framing Bog for the crimes he commits. Only now he’s done fucked up…
> 
> So, to review:
> 
> Roland Renard - The Green Knight
> 
> Bogart Blackwood - The Bog King
> 
> Marianne Bellefae - Le Papillion


End file.
